


Finding a Way To Be Grateful (Setting Priorities)

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [12]
Category: Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault, Banter, Boys Kissing, Crossover Pairings, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Gen, Groping, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Past Relationship(s), Politics, Seduction, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When SHIELD offers Clint an independent contract, and the chance to work with a former partner, the temptation to step back into his old life proves too much to resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding a Way To Be Grateful (Setting Priorities)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kastron (decidueye)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/gifts).



“You want me to go in with you?”

The genuine concern in Quinn’s eyes stifled any urge Clint might have had to laugh off the question. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Happy and Pepper?” he asked instead. “Going over security for Stark’s latest press junket?”

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not for another hour, and don’t change the question.”

Leaning in, Clint kissed him. “I’ll be fine. Go be corporate.”

“Well if you’re going to be insulting,” Quinn snorted, but he turned nevertheless and headed away from the conference room. Clint stayed where he was for a long moment, watching him leave. They were still at the stage in their relationship where intense, often complicated emotions, warred with a physical attraction so strong it was sometimes difficult to keep their hands off each other.

 _Besides,_ Clint thought, knowing his smile had turned lecherous, _he does have a damn fine ass._

“Stop staring, ya perv!” Quinn called back over his shoulder. “I’ll tell Pepper on you!”

His bold words to his lover aside, Clint did feel an uncomfortable tightening in his gut as he pushed open the door to the briefing room. _”Fury wouldn’t give me details,”_ Cap had admitted when passing on the message over breakfast. _”He swore the guy just needs to pick your brain about an old mission. That’s all.”_ Clint had agreed to the meeting – he didn’t bear SHIELD or Fury any particular sort of grudge, and it was in the team’s best interest for him to continue playing nice with his former employers.

Of course, once he saw who was waiting for him, Clint realized that he should have known nothing was ever going to be that simple where Director Fury was concerned. _Bastard._ “Hey Shelley.”

The SHIELD agent’s face lit with pleasure at the sight of him. “Hey yourself, Barton.” Deep brown eyes looked Clint up and down – assessing his condition. “Gotta say - you don’t _look_ like a man on the verge of eating his gun.”

Clint snorted. It was brutally straightforward, and completely unconcerned with traditional social niceties. It was one of the reasons the two of them had initially clicked as partners and the same reason their superiors had ultimately decided to separate them. “Thanks, I guess.” He closed the distance separating them and held out his hand. “Good to see you, man.”

Still smiling, Shelley took his offered hand and pulled him into a hug. “Same here.” His breath was warm against the skin of Clint’s neck, triggering long-buried memories of other ways in which they’d once been close. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s been a hell of a year,” Clint admitted as they stepped back from each other.

“Guess so,” Shelley agreed. “Gotta say Clint – you are about the last person anybody ever expected to throw their career away over a relationship.” He glanced significantly at the door. “Can I meet him?”

On some level Clint understood that Shelley was no more curious than any of his friends and former colleagues would have been. _On the other hand…_ “Fury told Cap that you needed to pick my brain about an old mission?” he asked, trying to nudge the topic away from Quinn. “One of ours?”

Shelley gave him a knowing glance, but settled into a more professional stance. “You remember that arms dealer in Yemin that Fury sent us after?” Clint nodded. Where he and Natasha had typically been sent after higher value targets, he and Shelley had been dispatched to take care of a lot of arms dealers in the months they’d worked together. _Only one in Yemin, though._ That one he remembered very clearly.

“The route’s changed hands a couple of times,” Shelley went on, “but nobody’s been in a position to take it back to Manaa’s level.”

“Until now,” Clint interjected.

Shelley grinned. “Safi’s a real bastard. All the experts are predicting him being in a position to change the course of world events in the next six to twelve months.”

All of his instincts were on alert now. “And you want what, precisely, from me?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Any intel I can give you is going to be tragically out of date, and you can’t tell me there are things about that mission I remember that you don’t.” He folded his arms across his chest and leveled his most challenging glare at his former partner. “What’s this really about?”

 _He’s the first person you’ve put me with that’s lasted longer than thirty days._ Clint abruptly remembered getting called into Coulson’s office for the news that he and Shelley were being separated. When he’d refused to leave without a proper explanation, Coulson had finally conceded that the problem was less with the two of them working together and more the effect pairing the two of them together was starting to have on the rest of the organization. 

Clint was a prankster who bored easily, and he didn’t suffer fools at all. Shelley, on the other hand, was impossibly charming. He had a way of getting under your skin and convincing you that Director Fury liked his coffee extra sweet, Agent Hill was a party girl who enjoyed ‘getting down’ with the enlisted, or that Agent Coulson was fine with you calling him “Phil”.

Some of that charm was being directed at him now; it had been a few years, but Clint suspected it was one of those experiences you never really forgot. “Fury’s authorized me to bring you in as an independent. We get in fast, before Safi really has a chance to get established, take him out and I don’t have to waste time bringing a newbie up to speed on the terrain.” He shrugged. “Win-win.”

He wanted to say yes – that was the bitch of it – and he was pretty sure the desire had very little to do with Shelley’s sales tactics. “I can give you ‘til morning,” Shelley conceded when he didn’t answer right away. “0600 – Fury’s shipping me out whether I have back-up or not.” He paused. “I understand you need to check with your guy.”

The assumption angered him. “It’s not just Quinn, Shelley. Nat and I didn’t stop being partners because we left SHIELD, and I have responsibilities to the Avengers. I’ve got to check in with Cap and Tony – make sure there’s nothing on the horizon.”

The look Shelley gave him then cut deep, like one of Nat’s stilettos placed to wound instead of kill. Out loud, though, all he said was, “0600. You won’t be sorry.” He looked Clint over again. “It really has been too long.” And just like that, the perfect note of regret in his voice, softening the sting of his implication that Clint was overestimating his own importance to the Avengers and the people he’d let lure him away from SHIELD.

“C’mere,” Clint said. Relenting somewhat, he pulled his former friend into a hug. “Even if I can’t do it, we stay in touch, right?”

Shelley’s grip on him tightened, and Clint felt a deep regret of his own lance through his chest. _Never could do anything simple, could you?_ he thought. His attraction to Shelley had been the essence of simple, but he’d been so caught up in his crush on Phil Coulson at the time that it had never occurred to him that a relationship with his fellow agent might have been exactly what he needed.

_And now there’s Quinn…_

When they finally let go, Shelley lingered a moment – gripping the back of Clint’s neck firmly. “You’re going to say yes,” he said, grinning. “I have faith.”  
******************  
Clint never questioned that Natasha would be waiting for him when he grabbed his kit and headed for the roof of the Tower. “You know it’s a set-up, right?” she asked, as he took his place opposite the targets Tony had set up for him and strung his practice bow.

“Of course.” Exhaling softly, he came to full draw and sighted on the first target.

She waited a beat, and then said, “But you’re going to say yes anyway.” The tone of her voice was resigned – he heard it every time he was getting ready to do something stupid that had a minimal chance of people besides himself actually ending up in the hospital.

He held the draw a moment longer, then released his arrow. It thudded home dead center of the target. “Yeah, probably,” he admitted, lowering the bow and turning to face her. “Just because he knows how to choose his bait doesn’t mean I have to bite,” he added.

Natasha’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “Oh yes – because you’re known for resisting the tastier bits of bait. Have you talked to Quinn about what you’re planning?”

Glaring at her, Clint nocked another arrow and let it fly at a second target without even bothering to turn and verify his aim. Natasha’s single, elegantly raised eyebrow was all the confirmation he needed that it was another bulls-eye. “He’s leaving for Madrid in the morning. Stark’s latest European press tour.” Lowering the bow again, Clint shrugged. “It’s nothing he and Eliot weren’t doing with us before everything went pear-shaped. I know the terrain – I’m the best person for the job.”

As if to punctuate his assertion, Clint made another shot in the blink of an eye. “You know what I’m going to say next,” Natasha said.

He didn’t flinch away from her gaze. He couldn’t – they didn’t keep secrets from each other. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably am trying to prove something to myself, but where is that a bad thing?”

Natasha slid off her perch on the parapet and walked over to join him. “You’re trying to prove something to Fury, Barton,” she said, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “And that’s where this is going to get messy.”  
******************  
Unlike the other times when Quinn had taken a break from retrieval contract work, the people he was with now seemed long on skills and blessedly short on ego. “We work for Tony Stark,” Pepper had pointed out when he’d casually mentioned his observation to her. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but _that_ ego tends to overpower everything in its path.”

Harold “Happy” Hogan was one of the most easy-going men Quinn had ever met; instead of being defensive in their first meeting he immediately acknowledged that Quinn’s skill and experience put him in an entirely different league than anyone else in the company – himself included. “I’m still the boss though,” he’d pointed out. “I’ll take your suggestions all day long, but since I’m the one Mr. Stark is going to be upset with if something doesn’t work, my word’s going to be the last on any discussion we have. Understand?”

It was more than he’d ever gotten from anyone he’d ever signed on with and Quinn nearly told the man so. The only real drawback he could see was that since the majority of his experience was international he was going to end up being point man on most, if not all, of Stark’s overseas trips. Tony’s Avengers duties aside that meant a lot of travel time.

“I promise not to pine,” Clint had said when he brought up his concerns. “And if it gets to be too much, I can sign up for bodyguard duty, right?” He’d followed up the suggestion by doing something to Quinn’s neck with his teeth that reset the bar on distracting as far as Quinn was concerned.

There had been no talk of Clint accompanying them on the current trip, which would have them leaving for Spain earlier in the morning than Tony preferred to travel. “Don’t take anything he says personally,” Happy had cautioned Quinn as they wrapped up their final planning session.

Quinn couldn’t help smiling, remembering how Stark had ended up offering him the job in the first place. Since it had involved a fairly length discussion of Quinn’s physical attributes, all he said out loud was, “I won’t.”

It was late when he was finally free to make his way back to Clint’s wing of the tower, but Quinn smiled as the scent of food reached his nostrils. “This is some sort of demented guilt trip, isn’t it?” he asked, pulling Clint in close and kissing him. “I promise I already felt bad about missing dinner.”

The archer relaxed into him; a comforting warmth as he threaded his fingers into Quinn’s hair and slid off the band he’d used to tie the mess of it back into something a little more “corporate”. “I kind of liked the idea of waiting for you,” Clint admitted. “Making sure you were fed, taken care of…” He leaned in, kissing Quinn again.

Growling low in his throat, Quinn turned – pushing Clint against the wall and pressing full length against him. “Missed you,” he breathed in between kisses. “Kept thinking about this every time the briefings got too boring.”

Clint tugged his dress shirt free of his slacks and slipped his hands under the lightweight fabric. “You rock the suits,” he said, grinning, “but it’s hell getting you out of them when I feel like molesting you.” He traced the line of Quinn’s waistband with his fingertips, his eyes practically shining with mischief as Quinn shivered under his touch.

“Bastard,” Quinn whimpered, ducking his head and struggling to control his breathing. “That’s it – you’re going in my luggage. No way am I surviving three weeks without you.” Clint’s nimble fingers were already busy undoing his belt.

“What about dinner?” he asked. A moment later, Quinn felt the button on his slacks come open.

“Fuck dinner,” he murmured, leaning in and kissing his lover again.  
****************************  
Clint tried to remain sanguine about the whole business the next morning as he suffered through the song and dance that was now necessary to get him past security and onto the SHIELD helicarrier. _You chose this,_ he reminded himself over and over, but clinging to that knowledge only served to remind him that it _had_ been a choice, and what if he’d chosen wrong?

He was already deeply conflicted about his decision to accept Shelley’s offer; even though he had eventually discussed it with Quinn, he hadn’t been as forthright as he probably should have been. Sex first – while amazing – had been his biggest misstep. He had seen the flash of doubt in Quinn’s eyes when he finally raised the subject of the mission – wondering if their lovemaking had been Clint’s way of softening him up.

It hadn’t been – at least he hoped it hadn’t been. He didn’t want to think that about himself, but it was all too easy for Clint to see how Quinn might have gotten there, even for a moment or two. _Jesus – I didn’t mean it,_ he thought, following his escort to the quinjet assigned to transport him and Shelley into Yemin. It was the only refuge he had until Quinn returned from Europe; whatever was really in his heart, he hadn’t consciously intended to manipulate the situation.

Shelley was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp, easy smile and easy demeanor fading as Clint approached. “You look like hell,” was his blunt assessment as Quinn shouldered past him and strode up into the belly of the plane. “Lover-boy keep you up too late?”

Clint actually felt something break deep inside him. “Listen,” he snapped, throwing his bag into its berth with a little more force that was warranted, and rounding on his former partner, “if this is going to work, we need to stop all discussion about my relationship for at least the next twenty-four hours. No questions, no jokes, no teasing – nothing, okay?”

He could tell immediately that he’d overreacted. Shelley had actually taken a step back from him and had both hands raised in a defensive posture. “No problem,” he said, eyes wide and startled. “Sorry if I overstepped, man.”

Suddenly and truly ashamed of himself, Clint exhaled slowly, trying to expel the last of his lingering tension. “It’s okay,” he said, when he could trust himself again. “I’m just…I screwed some things up and I’m mad at myself right now more than anything, so if you could just..?”

Relaxing immediately, Shelley closed the gap that separated them and clapped Clint reassuringly on the shoulder. “It’s all good. We go kill some bad guys and everything will make a lot more sense.”  
***********************  
 _”Were you and he involved?”_

_”We fucked around some, but there was never anything serious. Anyway, this isn’t about Shelley – not really.”_

Quinn knew Clint had been telling the truth, at least as he understood it for himself. It was occasionally hard to remember that while he wasn’t Clint’s first relationship by a long shot, he was the most serious commitment the archer had made to anyone besides Natasha Romanoff in far too long.

“Hey – Earth to Quinn. You in there?”

Startled, Quinn realized that Pepper Potts had taken the seat next to his, and had even gone so far as to rest her hand on his arm. “Is there something wrong?” he asked, trying desperately to pretend like his thoughts hadn’t been a million miles away. _Or at least a couple hundred,_ his brain helpfully supplied.

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to be asking you that. You’re the one with the truly impressive thousand yard stare going on.”

Quinn chuckled ruefully, some of his preoccupation leaving him. “SHIELD approached Clint about an independent contracting job.” He sighed. “I’m probably overthinking it, but it’s hard not to be suspicious of the timing and who Fury sent to make the offer.”

He didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse that Pepper looked concerned now as well. “Who did they send?”

“Kid named Shelley,” he told her. “Apparently he and Clint used to work together before Clint and Tasha hooked up.” He paused, painfully aware that what he was about to say was going to bring the whole discussion squarely into ‘jealous boyfriend’ territory. “And, they…” He hated himself for not being able to say it, but fortunately Pepper didn’t need him to explain.

“Well, speaking as one who knows,” she said, relaxing somewhat, “multiple ex-whatevers are the price you pay for giving your heart to a man-whore.” She rushed on, before he could react to her choice of terms. “And I’m sorry to put it so bluntly, but if Clint and Tony were to sit down and compare notes I think Clint might actually win.” To Quinn’s amazement, she actually laughed. “True, only because there’s no way Tony can remember all of his.”

Her easy, calm manner in the face of some truly impressive crap was one of a dozen reasons why he was enjoying working for Pepper. Quinn couldn’t remember the last time anyone had ever invited him to open up like this. “How do you deal with it?” he asked.

“You trust,” she told him, covering his hand with hers. “You trust and you forgive…a lot, because even though they don’t mean to they screw things up. A lot.” Her smile turned wistful. “I’ve seen how you two look at each other, Quinn. Even if he sometimes sucks at showing it, he’s right where he wants to be.”  
*******************  
“I think we’re there,” Shelley declared, looking over the last of their mission prep work. His eyes ticked up, meeting Clint’s gaze. “If we can’t take him out tomorrow, he can’t be taken out.”

Exhaling sharply, Clint leaned back in his chair. Four days of hard, intense planning and recon work, and he was finally starting to feel like somebody he recognized. “I agree,” he said, nodding. “We work on this anymore we’re going to screw something up.”

Shelley grinned at him. “Think we can risk dinner out? That little place just south of the square looked interesting.”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t see why not?” There were enough Western tourists in the city that they wouldn’t stick out. Besides – Clint realized that the safe house they’d been assigned was starting to make him feel uncomfortably claustrophobic.

Conversation was light and easy as they walked the dozen or so blocks to the restaurant Shelley had spotted. It was comfortable, reminding Clint of their unofficial tradition of refusing to talk shop the night before a mission. Shelley started out by filling Clint in on people he’d known and nominally called friend – turning discussion of several of the ongoing interpersonal dramas into a hilariously over the top analysis that would have done any soap opera commentator proud.

Eventually Clint responded by telling his friend some of the more amusing stories of life in Avengers Tower and what it was like living in such close quarters with such a disparate group of people. Not surprisingly, the thing that seemed to interest Shelley most was the budding relationship between Natasha Romanoff and the Hulk, although Thor’s ongoing battle with the kitchen appliances ran a close second.

Clint wondered briefly over dessert if he should caution Shelley not to say anything about Nat and Bruce, but if there was ever a couple that could handle idle gossip about their relationship… In a similar vein he was grateful that Shelley kept steering their ramblings clear of any talk about Quinn or the events that had precipitated Clint’s resignation from SHIELD. It made the whole business feel less like an elephant in the room, and more like a really big house cat.

“Things haven’t been the same,” Shelley said finally, as Clint fumbled their key into the lock. “I know we haven’t worked together in…forever…but you’re not even around the barracks anymore.”

Clint finally wrestled the door open, and the two of them got safely inside. It was after midnight, and while neither of them had any alcohol with dinner, he could tell that fatigue was making Shelley a little sloppier than usual. “I appreciate you saying it,” he said, securing the locks, “but you know things were never the same after that mess with Loki.”

“Nobody blamed you for that,” Shelley scoffed. “You were mind controlled, just like Selvig and all the others.”

There was absolutely no hesitation in his voice as he said it, and when Clint turned back towards him he could tell from Shelley’s expression that he absolutely believed what he was saying. _Still…_ “I appreciate you saying it,” he repeated, “but you’re wrong. Nothing was ever the same after that, and then…” He stopped himself from actually saying Quinn’s name, not wanting to end what had been a nice evening deep in his own relationship drama.

“Look,” Shelley said, meeting his eyes, “you went through a lot of shit this past year – nobody’s saying that you didn’t. What happened with Loki could have happened to any one of us though, and the people who matter remember that.” He reached up without thinking and brushed his fingertips along the line of Clint’s jaw.

The energy between them shifted abruptly at the contact from friendly and easy into something crackling with potential. Standing closer than he remembered them being a moment ago, looking directly into his friend’s dark eyes, Clint knew he needed to pull back – give them both a chance to regain some emotional, as well as physical distance.

“Shelley…” It was all he could get out before the other man leaned in and kissed him. Clint made a small, desperate sound low in his throat – protest or invitation – even he didn’t know which at this point.

“Shhh,” Shelley crooned softly; his fingers flexing against Clint’s skin. “It’s just a kiss.” He traced the swell of Clint’s lower lip with his tongue. “It’s not like I’m suggesting we sleep together or anything.” His next kiss was hungrier, sending lines of fire racing along Clint’s nerves to pool low in his belly.

“You wouldn’t say no…” Clint whispered, threading his fingers into Shelley’s thick hair and kissing him back. He could feel himself beginning to respond to the other man’s closeness; the thrill of the forbidden and the lure of something so sweetly uncomplicated pulling on him in all the right ways.

He felt Shelley’s grin in the middle of their next kiss. “ _You’re_ not telling me to stop.” They kissed again – open mouthed this time – tongues sliding against each other, creating a delicious friction that seemed to stir the mounting heat between them into something even more intense. _It’s just a kiss…_ Clint thought desperately, feeling like something important was suddenly, inexorably sliding through his fingers. _I’m not…_ Then Shelley rocked his hips lightly – purposefully – into Clint’s thigh, and he couldn’t escape the truth any longer that this _wasn’t_ just a kiss…or two…or ten…

His moan of desire suddenly turning into a growl of frustration, Clint tightened his fingers into a fist and pulled Shelley up off him. “No,” he said firmly, letting the other man see the determination in his eyes. “And stop.”

Shelley sobered immediately, raising his hands in surrender. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, man.”

Shaking slightly, Clint forced himself to let Shelley go so they could get some much needed distance between them. “I don’t,” he said, swallowing hard against a suddenly dry throat, “as long as you get that I’m serious. I’ve fucked up too many things with this relationship already – I’m not going to make things worse by cheating on him.” _Any more than I already have,_ his conscience helpfully supplied, but Clint knew that as soon as he and Quinn were back together, he would confess everything and take whatever payback he had coming.

Silence stretched between them; Clint could almost feel Shelley thinking about what he’d said, weighing it against what had almost just happened. “I get it,” he said finally, and Clint could see him relax even further. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Clint nodded, grateful that Shelley seemed like everything was going to be cool between them. “Me too.” He snorted softly. “Now if you don’t mind I think I have a date with a _really_ cold shower.”  
**********************  
“Station three, status check.” Quinn frowned at his tablet, not liking how quiet the man he’d placed by the employee entrance to the plant had been for the last ten minutes. “Talk to me Alex.” It wasn’t a priority as far as things went, but Quinn had liked low priority points of entry a lot in his earlier days.

They were in Munich, with still nearly a week to go on the tour. Today’s stop was at an airplane manufacturing plant that was paying ungodly sums of money to convert their operations to clean energy using Stark Technology. Everything had gone smoothly at each of their stops, but as Quinn was learning – it took a lot of people and a whole lot of effort to make sure things got to that point.

 _”Station three,”_ came the voice he was looking for at last. _”Sorry, Control. Everything’s clear. Status good.”_

The tension that eased in his neck and shoulders on learning that everything was all right was almost perfectly balanced out by the realization that he’d put an idiot in charge of one of his entry points. “Grab somebody to send out to Station 3,” he said, starting to turn to one of the people that had been tasked to help him oversee things this afternoon. The rest of his order died in his throat as he saw Tony himself was standing just inside the doorway.

“Can I see you outside for a second, Quinn?” Stark was almost unnaturally calm as he met Quinn’s eyes – none of the raging diva-like qualities they’d been subjected to virtually round the clock for the last two weeks were on display.

Aware of all the eyes now on him, Quinn turned to the woman he’d been addressing before. “Get somebody to replace Alex at Station 3, and then take point until Mr. Hogan or I come back.” She nodded, and Quinn steadied himself to follow Tony into the hallway.

“Just tell me he’s alive,” he said quietly, as soon as he heard the door shut behind Tony. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. “Please.”

Tony clasped his shoulder, and Quinn began to tremble uncontrollably. Turning sharply, he pulled free of Stark’s attempts to comfort him. Their eyes met, and Quinn’s vision blurred with the threat of tears. “Just tell me,” he repeated, louder this time.

“He’s alive,” Stark said. “Barely. Natasha couldn’t tell me much, but she did say you needed to come right away. You’ll take my jet – my pilot knows to get you to SHIELD as quickly as possible.”

Quinn opened his mouth to thank Tony, and then another sharper realization crashed in on him. “Fury’s not going to let me anywhere near the helicarrier. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have your plane shot down.”

Pepper and Happy had both told him that there was a serious side to Tony Stark – a side almost no one ever saw. Quinn hadn’t believed them until now. “At the end of the day, Nick Fury knows who his friends are, and who he doesn’t want to piss off. Lucky for you I fall into both categories.”  
********************  
Quinn would later look on that flight as the longest four hours of his life. He managed an all-too-brief phone call with Natasha, where she confirmed that Clint was alive, but that he was still in surgery. Beyond that, she had little she could give him in the way of information. “Tash, what the hell happened to them?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, and he could hear a tiny crack that had formed in her iron-clad control. “They’ve been debriefing Shelley since before we got here, and the doctors aren’t telling us anything about Clint. I’m sure they don’t know anything definite yet,” she hurried to add before he could find a target for his growing rage and frustration, “but he’s been on the table for nearly five hours so far.”

That wasn’t good by anybody’s standards. “You’ll call me if anything changes?”

He was grateful in that moment that Natasha Romanoff was the ultimate realist. “I will.”

One of the attendants brought him a soda as soon as he ended the call. Quinn nodded absently at her, but his mind was already dissecting his conversation, searching for any scrap of comfort or meaning he could take away from what had been said – as well as what hadn’t. The worst part, he decided, was that Natasha really didn’t know anything. Quinn didn’t believe for a second that there wasn’t anything to know, but in an organization like SHIELD information ran from the top down. They would get information on Clint’s condition when Nick Fury said they could have it, not one micro-second sooner.

“You can’t die on me, you son of a bitch,” he growled, chewing thoughtfully on one knuckle. “Not now – not like this.” In the back of his mind, Quinn was all too aware of the fact that he and Clint hadn’t left each other under the best of terms. He’d doubted Clint’s motives, however briefly – doubted _Clint_ \- and if the worst happened, he was never going to be able to make that right.  
*******************  
It was a death-watch – they couldn’t pretend it was anything else. SHIELD’s top medical people had been brought in as soon as word had reached the helicarrier about Clint’s injuries. Orders had come from Director Fury himself that everything possible was to be done to save Barton’s life – orders backed up by Agent Hill’s presence in the operating bay.

When the Avengers that were available arrived on the carrier, they were ushered to a comfortable waiting room in the medical wing where Director Fury personally informed them that Clint was alive and everything possible was being done to keep him that way. Questions about the nature of his injuries were met with silence, followed by a promise that as soon as more concrete information was available they would have it.

Natasha had been the one to finally bring up the elephant in the room. “Are you going to allow Quinn access?”

Each of the Avengers would later swear that standing toe to toe with the Black Widow in that moment, Nick Fury had actually looked guilty. It was only a moment, only a flash – but they all agreed that they’d seen it. “As long as he agrees to behave himself, Jonah Quinn will be allowed access to the medical wing and given all consideration due a family member.”

Natasha had been on the phone before he finished speaking. Once they confirmed that Quinn was on his way, Steve excused himself and headed for the chapel. Still vibrating with an unhealthy mix of adrenaline and worry, Natasha continued to pace for a while.

“You couldn’t have stopped him.” Bruce’s eyes were shadowed with worry, but he still radiated his usual calm. Nevertheless, Natasha turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “All right,” he conceded, raising his hands. “ _You_ probably could have. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do, though. You know that.”

Nat exhaled through her nose, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. She was trying to control an overwhelming impulse to make _somebody_ pay for what had happened. “Fury set him up. Using Shelley to make the offer _wasn’t_ an accident.” She swallowed. “They have history.”

Bruce was quiet for a long moment. “Barton’s not a stupid man, Natasha. And I’m sure you told him your suspicions before he accepted the assignment.” Raising a hand, he beckoned her to his side with a waggle of his fingers. Natasha glared at him, but nevertheless went over and sat down – letting him hug her to his side. “Have faith,” he murmured, kissing her hair. “Everything’s going to work out.”  
********************  
Quinn was numb inside and out by the time he reached the deck of the helicarrier – the only thought in his head to get to Clint, and the only prayer in his heart that he wasn’t too late. Seeing Natasha with the cluster of men and women he suspected were Nick Fury’s idea of an “escort” wasn’t even enough to reassure him.

“No change,” she said by way of greeting. He groped for her hand and squeezed it.

“How much crap am I going to have to go through?” he asked, already looking past her as if he expected Clint to be hanging back a ways waiting for him. Keeping hold of him, Nat started walking towards one of the many lifts that lead below deck.

“Fury’s at least being reasonable,” she said, once they and the other soldiers that had been sent with her were sealed off from the noise and activity. “As long as you behave yourself, he’s willing to allow you the same access to Clint he’d allow any family member.”

Quinn really looked at the redhead then. “You look like hell, Natasha,” he said softly, squeezing her hand again.

She grinned at him and it was blazing – mostly teeth. “I haven’t slept in about thirty-six hours,” she admitted. “It’s taking more control than it should to play by the rules Fury’s set down.”

“Speaking of,” he sighed. “Do we know anything about what happened yet? Has that son of a bitch Fury said anything at all?” Quinn didn’t miss how Natasha’s gaze slid to the SHIELD guards flanking them, but he wasn’t sure he cared anymore. Discretion wasn’t even a concept he could connect with while the threat of losing Clint was looming so large in his immediate future.

“The _official_ word,” Natasha said finally, “is that Shelley is still being debriefed. Once that’s finished, Fury will likely tell us himself the version he thinks we’re entitled to have.” She slipped her hand free of his grasp and crossed her arms over her chest. “Did you sleep at all on the plane?”

He shook his head, feeling even more disconnected from what was going on around him than before. “I keep forgetting I’m awake.” The lift door opened, and they automatically stepped out into the corridor. “None of this seems real,” Quinn went on as they approached the waiting room. “I’ve got to see him, Tash. He’s got to be okay. He’s…” He forced himself to stop talking before he said something he wouldn’t be able to take back.

It wasn’t until he nearly walked into Natasha that Quinn realized the object of their discussion had already reached the waiting room. She stepped immediately to one side, and Quinn found himself face to face with Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD. “Mr. Quinn,” Fury said in his low, rumbling voice, “I’m happy to be able to tell you that Agent Barton is out of surgery. The next twenty-four hours are critical, but his doctors are hopeful.”

Relief warred with a cold, black anger suddenly churning deep in Quinn’s soul. “He’s not yours, Fury. Not anymore. You gave him up, so don’t you fucking _dare_ call him ‘Agent’.” At the edge of his vision Quinn saw Cap’s shocked expression at his challenging Fury. Natasha actually reached out for him, but he sidestepped her attempt to warn him off.

“Hopefully you can forgive a minor slip of the tongue, Mr. Quinn,” Fury said into the sudden silence. “Clint Barton was _mine_ for many years before you came into his life – old habits, and all that.”

Quinn was distracted from responding by movement in Fury’s shadow. He felt the muscles along his jaw tighten as he caught sight of the dark-haired SHIELD agent. _Agent Shelley, I presume._ Clint’s voice was suddenly in his head again, a spike of pain straight through his heart. _We fucked around some, but there was never anything serious.”_ “You’re not injured.” The words escaped before he’d really decided to say them aloud. “Why aren’t you injured?”

“Quinn, you need to calm down.” He heard Bruce’s voice, but it wasn’t quite reaching past the rising anger in his chest at seeing the man who was supposed to be backing Clint up standing in front of him without any sort of visible wound.

He’d actually taken a step towards Shelley when Fury said, “I assumed you would all want the most accurate accounting of what happened to…Clint. Agent Shelley has agreed to give you his report and answer any questions you might have.”

Dark eyes met his. _Why aren’t you hurt?_ Quinn was nearly screaming the question in his head now, but knowledge that Shelley was here to give them answers was enough to help him keep it together. “The intel was solid,” Shelley began, falling into a parade rest stance. Everything about him was perfectly military, and he never once took his eyes off Quinn. “We reviewed our available options, and set up a gauntlet outside Safi’s favorite club. Agent…” He swallowed, eyes widening slightly in reaction to a shift in Quinn’s expression. “Uh, Clint went high – it was his job to take out the bodyguards. I was supposed to take Safi from the ground.”

The information he’d been craving for what seemed like an eternity spilled into Quinn’s ears, poisoning everything inside him. “We missed the jeep on the north side of the square,” Shelley said. There was a crack in his composure suddenly, and when he resumed speaking, his voice was no longer as sure as it had been. “They were patient; they must have tracked his arrows, or he moved into the light at the wrong moment…he’d been off his game from the beginning, worrying about some fight he had with you…”

And there it was; whatever happened to Clint had been a mistake – _a careless mistake_. When Shelley brought it back around to lay the blame at _Quinn’s_ feet though, the fragile balance that kept them all at a safe distance from each other – kept them all on civil ground – shattered. Quinn didn’t have any conscious memory of deciding to move; between one blink and the next, however, he’d closed the distance separating him from Shelley, grabbed the SHIELD agent by the front of his uniform shirt and slammed him into the nearest wall. The impact knocked the breath out of the younger man, and by the time he opened his mouth involuntarily, his body looking to replenish its store of much needed oxygen, Quinn had control of his side arm and was shoving the barrel of Shelley’s own 9mm into his mouth.

Reality froze around them. “You know what?” Quinn snarled. “We’re not going to worry about blame anymore. You’re not going to stand there without a mark on you and try to claim it’s _my_ fault Clint is in this place and we don’t know if he’s going to live or die.” His finger caressed the weapon’s trigger, and he heard a small sound that might have been a whimper come from low in Shelley’s throat.

“We’re going to keep this simple,” he went on, smiling coldly. “Clint dies, you die.”

“Jonah!” He felt Nat close on his left, close enough to grab him. He knew she wouldn’t though – not while he was a fraction of an inch from blowing the back of Agent Shelley’s head into the wall. “Jonah listen to me – you do not want to do this.”

“She’s wrong you know,” Quinn said, his attention still focused on his captive. Tears were welling in Shelley’s dark eyes now, and the sight actually warmed him. “I really do want to do this. With every fiber of my being I want to pull this trigger and paint that cheap-ass drywall with whatever gray matter you’ve got in that skull of yours.” He exhaled softly. “But I give you my word – Clint lives, and you and I have no problem. If he dies – well, you better believe me when I say that unless you plan to spend the rest of your life on this floating loony bin, I _will_ make it happen.”

Quinn held the agent’s gaze for a moment longer – long enough to make sure that Shelley understood everything as he’d laid it out. When he was satisfied, Quinn pulled the muzzle of the weapon free of Shelley’s mouth and raised his hands; letting the 9mm hang loose in his grasp.

It took a moment, but then the weapon was snatched out of his hand and he was forced to his knees. Quinn didn’t resist the treatment, only smiling vaguely as his hands were secured behind his back, and Agent Shelley was pulled out of his reach. He was dimly able to pick out the sounds of Bruce and Tasha arguing from the chaos that was suddenly swirling around him, but the words didn’t make any sense.

Nothing made any sense anymore. The numbness that had overtaken him on the flight from Munich was back, swallowing the rage and fear that had driven him to attack Shelley and leaving only one small, bright beam of warmth in his life.

Clint was alive. Quinn clung desperately to that knowledge, unable to think of anything beyond that fact. Here, right now in this moment, Clint was alive. Nothing else could be allowed to matter.

“They blew the building up underneath him.” Quinn flinched, realizing that Nick Fury was standing in front of him again, and the rest of the room had gone silent. He raised his head, meeting the SHIELD director’s gaze – noting as he did that Fury had drawn his own weapon and was holding it at his side. “Agent Shelley risked his own life to make sure that Clint was found, and he kept him alive until we could extract them.”

When Quinn didn’t immediately respond Fury perched on the arm of the nearest chair; bringing his pistol up into his lap. “I swear I can’t tell if you just don’t know who you’re fucking with or you don’t care.” He paused. “Captain Rogers wants me to excuse this little display of yours as being the result of grief and sleep deprivation.”

Quinn shrugged, genuinely past caring what Fury did. “Agent Shelley wasn’t wrong,” Fury went on. “But I think you know that already. Clint _was_ off his game, and part of the reason was whatever lovers spat you two had before he left for Yemin.”

“You mean Agent Shelley didn’t tell you what it was about?” Quinn asked.

Fury huffed out a quiet breath. “Clint didn’t tell him, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You know Shelley did try to seduce him. It wasn’t on my orders, but I knew what was likely to happen when the two of them ended up in the field together.”

“So you set Clint up.” Quinn said. He knew he should be more worried about the fact Fury hadn’t said whether or not Shelley’s attempt had been successful, but the majority of him was still clinging too fiercely to the fact that Clint was alive and being grateful for that.

He was slightly stunned, however, when Fury nodded in response to his accusation. “I did. In the event he was having second thoughts about leaving SHIELD, I wanted to create an opening for him to come back.” He sighed. “The one thing I didn’t count on was that his feelings for you might be deep enough or strong enough to cause a problem.”

“He wanted to prove that you’d made a mistake by forcing him to choose,” Quinn said.

The corners of Fury’s mouth twitched in what would almost have been a smile on the face of another man. “I know. Agent…Natasha…told me in very clear terms that was what was driving him. Unfortunately I have to stand by what I said at the time – he was always going to have to choose.” He shifted, holstering his pistol at last. “As there appears to be more than enough blame to go around here, I would prefer to let bygones be bygones Mr. Quinn.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t let you stay on board though, if you’re going to be assaulting my people.”

“Then I suggest you keep Agent Shelley far away from me, until Clint is out of the woods.”  
********************  
 _He’d heard the whine of the rocket launcher, seen the flare as it fired…but he’d spared a split second to look for Shelley, verify that his partner was safe, and the delay had left him with no good options for escape. He’d ended up riding the building to the ground, doing his best to protect his head as debris rained down all around him._

_Pain quickly overwhelmed him as his injuries racked up too fast for him to catalogue, and as he slipped into unconsciousness his only clear thought was a prayer that this wouldn’t be the end of the road._

Clint had no idea how much time had passed, but the scene that met his eyes when he finally regained consciousness was familiar enough that it didn’t take him long to piece together what had likely happened after the explosion. _SHIELD Medical. Looks like ICU._ It had mercifully been years since he’d been consigned to that part of the medical wing, but it was a memory that stayed with you.

It wasn’t until he shifted that he realized there was someone with him, two arms twined about his right arm, and a familiar head pillowed awkwardly on his shoulder. Smiling softly, he tried to reach across with his free hand and found that his left arm was bound tightly to his chest.

“Quinn,” he murmured, settling for a kiss to the top of his lover’s head. “C’mon Quinn, wake up.” His throat burned from the oxygen being forced into his lungs, but his injuries appeared to be extensive enough that his movement was seriously hampered.

It wasn’t until he actually tried to push against Quinn’s head with his jaw that the ex-mercenary came awake with a jolt – pale eyes wide and startled, and his breath coming in short, quick gasps. “You were snoring,” Clint rasped, trying not to openly laugh at the sight the usually unflappable Quinn made in that moment.

He could see Quinn’s brain scrambling to catch up with everything that had changed. “Was not,” he finally retorted, scrubbing a hand absently mindedly across his face. And another moment later it was as if everything finally clicked into place. “You,” he said, coming up off his chair – eyes suddenly bright and alert. He laid a trembling hand against Clint’s cheek. “How do you feel?”

“Grateful,” Clint said. It was the first word that came to mind, and the only one that mattered. “Quinn, I…”

“Don’t.” Quinn leaned in and kissed him. It was warm and gentle, and Clint wanted it to go on forever. When Quinn finally pulled back, he looked squarely into Clint’s eyes. “Whatever you think you need to tell me, it can wait.” He brushed his fingertips against Clint’s hair, his expression suddenly full of more raw, naked emotion than Clint had ever seen in him. “You’re alive,” Quinn said, and the awe with which he infused the words told Clint more than any doctor would ever be able to how close he’d come this time to that not being the case.

Warm fingers wrapped around his uninjured hand and gently squeezed. “I’m going to go get the doctors so they can check you out. We’ve got the rest of our lives for everything else.” Quinn started to pull free, but Clint tightened his own grip and pulled him back.

“I love you,” he said, when Quinn’s eyes met his again. “When everything was coming apart, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d said it to you, or if I’d ever _really_ said it to you.” He swallowed, wincing slightly at the pain. “I want the rest of my life to be with you, but I also don’t want to ever just assume that you know how I feel.”

Tears welled in Quinn’s eyes, and his voice was definitely shaking when he said, “I love you too, Clint. It’s starting to scare me a little just how much.” He looked for a moment like he was going to say something else, but then he leaned down and kissed Clint again and nothing else mattered in the world.


End file.
